"Indeed it would not be pleasant. But the winds would be the same; and the hills would be the same; and the smell of the earth would be the same; and they would be our own worms that came crawling over me to eat me! No; I won't leave the strath till I die—and I won't leave it then!"
"That is very well, John!" said the woman; "but if you were all day with your little ones—all of them all day looking hunger in your face, you would think it a blessed country wherever it was that gave you bread to put in their mouths!"
"And how to keep calling this home!" said another. "Why, it will soon be everywhere a crime to set foot on a hill, for frightening of the deer! I was walking last month in a part of the county I did not know, when I came to a wall that went out of my sight, seeming to go all round a big hill. I said to myself, 'Is no poor man to climb to heaven any more?' And with that I came to a bill stuck on a post, which answered me; for it said thus: 'Any well-dressed person, who will give his word not to leave the path, may have permission to go to the top of the hill, by applying to—'—I forget the name of the doorkeeper, but sure he was not of God, seeing his door was not to let a poor man in, but to keep him out!"
"They do well to starve us before they choke us: we might else fight when it comes to the air to breathe!"
"Have patience, my sons," said the chief. "God will not forget us."
"What better are we for that? It would be all the same if he did forget us!" growled a young fellow shambling along without shoes.
"Shame! Shame!" cried several voices. "Has not God left us the
Macruadh? Does he not share everything with us?"
"The best coat in the clan is on his own back!" muttered the lad, careless whether he were heard or not.
"You scoundrel!" cried another; "yours is a warmer one!"
The chief heard all, and held his peace. It was true he had the best coat!